By The Grace of Family
by Angelolyte
Summary: Alternate Universe story set at the end of the Civil War. Read to see how the Barkley's pick up their lives at a crucial part of their lives. Part I of II Please R


By the Grace of Family  
  
There was warmth in the morning sun, a warmth that would turn into a dry heat by the end of the day. Stockton and the San Joaquin Valley was in the grip of a drought in the summer of 1865. Audra Barkley, wearing her brothers' outgrown pants, and shirt with dark brown riding boots and hat rode hell bent for leather across the range she knew by heart. With her blond hair pulled back in to a relaxed ponytail, tendrils of silky strands blowing about her face, it was hard to tell if her tall, slender form was a girl or a woman. At thirteen, the girl considered herself a woman. She knew her parents still considered her to be a child. In some ways she was reluctant to grow up. In others, she was like any other girl, eager to be a woman, but time seemed to move so slow, especially now, now when the war was over and her two surviving brothers should be coming home.  
  
She saw him riding down the road from town, a thin young man with her own golden hair and even facial features. From a hill, her heart caught.  
  
"Hiya, Willow," she encouraged her mount. As one with the horse, she rode until she was riding towards him. He continued to cantor towards her on a horse that she had never seen before. He rode with a weary stance, not the confidence and happiness she had always equated with this brother. Not until his head lifted did she see the sapphire eyes light up. If Audra ever doubted the love her favorite brother had for her, her doubts were put to rest in that moment. His cantor broke into a full gallop for almost a minute until he reached her. They each dismounted and called out to each other before the boy who had become a man caught her in his arms and danced her around in delighted circles.  
  
"Sis!" he exclaimed. "Boy Howdy I couldn't have asked for a better homecoming than to see ya coming down the road."  
  
"Heath! Oh, Heath, I missed you. You are never allowed to leave home again." He put her down, kissing her on the cheek.  
  
"I promise, Sis, never again. You look so good, I could eat you up. What happened to that little tomboy I left last year?"  
  
"I grew up," she bragged. When Heath's lopsided grin grew into a slightly skeptical look, the young girl flushed.  
  
"Well, almost. Oh, Heath Mother and Father will be so happy to see you. Let's go home."  
  
"Don't have ta ask me twice." Heath helped his little sister to mount Willow, then got on his own horse. Together, the two blonds rode the last five miles towards home with Audra chattering away about the ranch and their parents. They were at the gates when Heath pulled back. Audra stopped beside him.  
  
"What is it?" she asked curiously.  
  
"Audra is Father angry with me? I mean the way I left and all." Audra let her brother sweat a little. Then she flashed him a grin.  
  
"If he is, aren't you coming home?" she teased.  
  
"Reckon if that was the case, Sis, I wouldn't be here. Just wanted to know what I was getting into. He can be pretty tough."  
  
"You were pretty tough on him."  
  
"Hey, yer not allowed to give me a hard time. You're just my little sister." Audra's laughter was infectious. Heath joined her not at all offended by her comment. "I missed ya, Sis."  
  
"I missed you too. Can we go home now? I can't wait to see Father and Mother's faces." Normally Audra would have raced Heath back to the house. Instead the blond haired brother and sister rode side by side into the yard. Ciego, the family stable man came running. He stopped short at the sight of the sixteen-year old Heath, still dressed in his blue union uniform. At the same moment, the front door opened. Victoria Barkley stepped out on to the porch. Audra dismounted. Her brother remained seated, his blue eyes taking in the house and the woman before him dressed in white, her silver hair hanging about her shoulders. She waited expectantly for the first of her sons to come home, her tears flowing down her face. Heath thought she was crying because he had come home. He didn't know she was also crying for someone else.  
  
"Mother!" In a flash, the boy was on the ground. With a more demure approach than he had taken with Audra, Heath came to a halt in front of Victoria. Her hand touched his cheek.  
  
"Heath," she breathed. "My son is home." Audra felt strong hands on her shoulders as her brother and mother embraced, both crying without hesitation. It had been over a year since the young man had run away to join the war. He was home. He was home at last.  
  
"Heath," Tom Barkley called out. Walking around his daughter, the older man walked to his son. Placing a kiss on Victoria's forehead, the young man gave her his hat and turned to his father.  
  
"Father? I...well I came home, that is if I'm still welcome? I owe ya an apology for leaving the way I did. It was wrong and plumb foolish, and..."  
  
"Boy, if you'll let me get a word in edgewise, I spose I'd like to say welcome home. Welcome home, Son." Heath was instantly enfolded in the man's hug, the large hand slapping his back. When the young man stood back, he was surprised by the moistness in Tom's eyes.  
  
"Thank-you, Father."  
  
"Been waiting for ya, Boy. Got a ranch ta run, but let's get ya inside and cleaned up."  
  
"He needs more than that, Tom. He's nothing more than skin and bones," Victoria scolded. Heath groaned.  
  
"Audra give me that horse. They're gonna smother me," he laughed. Audra's response was to stick out her tongue and let Ciego take the horses to the barn. She followed her parents and brother inside the house. Heath was home. Jarrod would be coming home, but there was one brother who was lost forever...and Audra wondered as she shut the door behind her if Heath knew that his best friend was truly gone. She shivered despite her happiness. Being young, she shook it off, but the picture of her dark haired second brother haunted her as she watched Victoria and Tom escort their son upstairs and back into the life he had left so suddenly.  
  
[hr]  
  
Soaking in the hot tub less than an hour later, Heath sighed with contentment. He grimaced thinking of the dirt that needed to come off. Fourteen months of trudging through woods and the wilderness, of fighting the Rebs, and killing men was not going to be forgotten easily. He looked over to the clothes that sat on the bathroom counter. They were Nick's clothes. His father had taken one look at him and told him that there was no way he would fit in the clothes he'd left behind so he gave him a pair of Nick's pants and shirt. Nick. Heath sighed thinking of his brother. He couldn't wait till both Jarrod and Nick were home. At the same time, he missed Nick so terribly. All those months and he hadn't heard anything about Nick even though he'd asked. He'd watched the lists when he could, but in the last few months of the war, there had been so much chaos. As for Jarrod, he was pretty sure his lawyer brother was safe in Washington D.C. Even so, he'd be relieved when he knew both his brothers were safe.  
  
Downstairs Victoria was in the kitchen working frantically with Silas to make a special dinner for Heath. Tom was drinking a brandy when his golden son walked into the living room.  
  
"Father? Where did Mother and Audra go?" he asked.  
  
"Your mother is making your favorite dinner. Your sister is in the barn with her newest colt." Heath laughed.  
  
"Typical," he grinned, then felt a little confused as his father stared at him. "What?"  
  
"Oh, nothing," Tom answered. But there was something there, something in the blue eyes that scared Heath. Tom sat down on the settee near the fireplace. Heath leaned against the fire place until he turned with resolution to the man he respected more than any other, the man who had claimed him after his mother died when he was five years old. Tom had raised all three of his sons to love the ranch, even Jarrod. The older man didn't play favorites. Jarrod did love the ranch, but early on it was clear he loved books more. Still Jarrod was as much a part of Tom's heart as his two younger sons. Heath knew that and respected his father for it.  
  
"Father, I'd really like to talk to ya about the day I left. I...well I guess I've changed some since."  
  
"I'd expect ya to, Son. You've been through a war."  
  
"Wasn't what I expected," Heath admitted. His face was pale. Tom was patient, more patient than Heath had expected. "I should have listened ta Nick the last time he was home. He told me and I didn't listen."  
  
"Nick?" Tom's body trembled. Heath was looking into his father's eyes, and again felt a shiver run down his spine.  
  
"Yeah. He said I'd hate it. Course Nick knows me pretty well. I did hate it. I hated every minute of it."  
  
"Heath, that wasn't the only reason we didn't want ya ta go. You were only fourteen. Yer still just a boy."  
  
"No, Father, not any more. Ya can't go through a war and still be a kid. I've killed man. I aint proud of it, but it's done. I can't take it back, even though I would if I could."  
  
"Heath, I'm not angry with ya. Ya did what ya had ta do, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't like ta take a switch to ya. Spose it's too late for that."  
  
"Yeah. Wish I'd taken the switch," the boy admitted. "Learned a lot out there. Surprised though ya didn't come after me."  
  
"I did," Tom admitted. Heath stared.  
  
"Honest?"  
  
"Son, I couldn't see a boy yer age going off ta war. I followed ya. Ya didn't use yer real name, did ya?"  
  
"No Sir," Heath answered. He flushed at being caught, but something inside him made him proud that his father hadn't just let him run off. He'd had a heated argument that day and then fled in the dead of night, a coward's act, he figured, but something he had to do or so he thought at the time.  
  
"Didn't think so. It's one thing to look for Heath Barkley or Heath Thomson. It's another when you've got another name."  
  
"I'm sorry, Father, really. I was sorry the day of my first battle." Victoria glided into the room, her skirts swooshing around her. Heath looked down. Tom stood. Going to his son, he put his hand on his son's shoulder.  
  
"Heath, there's nothing I can say. I'm just relieved to have ya home." Again he hugged his son. Heath felt relieved. At the same time, he felt Tom trembling. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.  
  
"Pa?" he asked drawing back. Did Tom miss that Heath called him by the nickname that he and Nick used sometimes. Victoria took Heath's hand. Audra came in through the front door. Heath was sitting down on the settee next to his mother when his sister came in.  
  
"Mother, what is it? What's wrong?"  
  
"Heath, we were hoping..." Audra froze behind her brother and mother. Tom looked to her. His slight shake of the head told her what she needed to know. With a glide as calm and quiet as her mother's yet showing her own anguish the young girl stood beside her father, her hand in his. Tom couldn't help the tremulous smile on his face as he squeezed his daughter's hand. Heath knew. He knew in that instant.  
  
"Who?" his voice asked, although he felt as though he were far away. "Is it Jarrod or Nick?" Victoria took Heath's hand. He could tell she was trying to make it as easy as possible. But there was no way.  
  
"Sweetheart..."  
  
"Which one!" Heath demanded his eyes ablaze. Tom spoke up.  
  
"Nick. We...he was killed in Mansfield, Louisiana, in April last year." Victoria was holding his hand. Despite the numbness in his heart, and mind, Heath felt her strength. Nick...Nick...Nick. Shaking his head, he stood. Fourteen months ago he had gone from the ranch and Nick was already...  
  
"Heath!" Tom cried as a roaring in his head overtook the boy.  
  
"No..." He mumbled. "No...not Nick. Not Nick...No...Oh God please no." His legs gave out. Tom caught his son, helping him to sit. Through a haziness he couldn't identify, Heath drank a burning liquid that brought him back to reality. Finally he could hear his father calling his name, see his mother and sister watching him anxiously.  
  
"Jarrod?" he ground out. "Does Jarrod know? Is he safe?" Heath wondered how your world could change so dramatically. At the same time, his own experiences had already taught him that one irrevocable second killed. It had killed thousands of men in the battles he had seen. In Mississippi, Tennessee, and Virginia, good men had died. He looked down at his hands, ghosts haunting him, his own brother haunting him as his father spoke.  
  
"Jarrod was home when we got the telegram. The last we heard he was safe." Heath nodded. That was the first thing that made sense.  
  
"I'm glad," he said. "Glad Jarrod was home. When...when did you find out?"  
  
"About a month after you left, Heath," Victoria offered. "Oh, Heath."  
  
"I'm sorry, Father, Mother. I'm sorry I wasn't here...I." Heath put his hands over his face. So this was how it felt. For every man he had killed, this was how their families felt. Devastated, heartbroken, lost. "I wish I'd never gone." Running out of the house, Heath's stomach retched and he threw up in the bushes. Falling again to his knees, he pounded the ground in complete agony. Not Nick! Wouldn't he know if Nick was gone? Wouldn't he know if one of his brothers...It didn't make sense, but death didn't make sense. He touched the dark pants Nick wore before he left. He was wearing those pants, but he knew he could never fill his brother's place. A delicate hand offered him a handkerchief. Heath pulled himself to his feet and wiped his face with the cloth. His mother's strong gentle arms enfolded him. Unable to hold his grief in any longer, the blond son sobbed. Images of Nick laughing, riding, branding, arguing, flirting with the girls and fishing at the lodge came to him. The boy, the teenager, the man, and the big brother he had been. Victoria's hug gave him comfort, but Heath knew that surviving the war had cost him dearly and he would never forget.  
  
[hr]  
  
The dark haired lawyer clenched his hands in an anxious pose. Reeling from the sights and sounds of the patients in the institution, he forced himself to knock on the administrator's door. A brief invitation to come in allowed Jarrod to enter a world he had never anticipated participating in. He opened the door, and stepped into the clean office.  
  
"Mr. Barkley, do come in," a middle sized man with balding gray hair greeted. The man walked around his desk, holding out his hand. Jarrod shook it, noticing the man had a good grip, an honest one. He breathed a sigh of silent relief.  
  
"I'm Dr. Edwin Curtis. Come in and sit down. I understand you are looking for a family member?" Jarrod nodded. Sitting in a straight backed chair, the observant young lawyer, still only twenty-four years old looked around the office. One wall was dedicated to medical texts and other books. The mahogany desk in front of him was littered with papers, much like his own desk in Washington D.C. or at home often was. Other furniture was tastefully placed about the room. Despite himself, Jarrod felt a little more comfortable than he had upon arriving at the establishment in Boston.  
  
"Yes, I'm seeking the whereabouts of my brother, Nicholas Barkley." Dr. Curtis frowned.  
  
"As I told you in my letter, Mr. Barkley, I don't have a patient by that name here."  
  
"Yes, but you have several patients who are unidentified, men who were liberated at the end of the war."  
  
"I do. What makes you think your brother might be among them?"  
  
"Honestly, Dr. Curtis? I actually have no clue. Your hospital is the fifth one I have investigated over the past year, ever since I got back to the capital from California. That's where I'm from."  
  
"I see. Was your brother listed as missing?" Jarrod kept his composure, refusing to give into the doubts that still nagged him. Over a year had passed, a nightmare of a year where a horrible war had come to a bloody end. It had been the most difficult period of his life, grieving for Nick, worrying about Heath, wherever he was and concerned for his parents and sister left in Stockton. He leaned forward towards Dr. Curtis, his eagerness evident.  
  
"Doctor, it doesn't matter to me if Nick was listed as missing or is presumed dead. Our family is very close. If Nick were dead, I would know it. I believe he is alive and I mean to find him."  
  
"He is presumed dead, I assume?"  
  
"Yes, during a battle in Louisiana, over a year ago." Dr. Curtis nodded. He went over to a filing cabinet by the large window that looked out on the busy streets of Boston. Pulling out a file, he brought it back to his desk. His green eyes spoke with candor as his words did. The man was honest. Jarrod had to give him that, and it was clear he was dedicated to his profession.  
  
"If you had told me he was lost in Virginia or certain other states, I would have told you there was no hope that he was here. However, the men who were brought here were all survivors of Carterson. There weren't many let me tell you. We have three men we have not been able to identify. Only one fits the description of the man you wrote to me about. I must tell you I believe he is hopelessly insane."  
  
"No!" Jarrod answered. "Not Nick." His anguish reached the physician. He held the file in his hands. Again he spoke candidly.  
  
"Mr. Barkley, are you aware of the conditions our brave soldiers were subjected to at Carterson?" Closing his eyes, Jarrod nodded.  
  
"I toured the camp a few months ago when I was looking for Nick. You don't need to elaborate."  
  
"Then you can understand how even the strongest man would be broken by the experience. The survivors of Carterson will never be the same men who left their loved ones to serve their country. My best advice to you is to forget you had a brother, Mr. Barkley. If your family believes he is dead, that is a mercy. To all intents and purposes this man is dead." Jarrod felt the surge of fury and rage Nick would have felt at hearing such words. If Heath were the brother he was seeking, and Nick was sitting beside him, Jarrod knew Nick would have punched the doctor without hesitation. The very thought made him smile.  
  
"Mr. Barkley?" Dr. Curtis asked quietly. Jarrod's dark blue eyes bore into the physicians. He had no idea how much he appeared like Nick at that moment. If he had, he would have been proud.  
  
"I want to see the man," he said coldly. Dr. Curtis nodded. He stood.  
  
"This patient has been violent. We have kept him locked in a padded room, in a jacket that restrains him. We try to keep the jacket as light as we can. We could keep him sedated, but I don't believe in using medications any more than necessary."  
  
"Thank God for that," Jarrod muttered. "Just take me to him, Doctor." Walking through a door that Jarrod had noticed on the other side of the room, Dr. Curtis led Nick down a myriad of halls. The floors were clean, but the halls were littered with patients either walking around in a daze or restrained in wheeled chairs. Personnel hurried back and forth. Dr. Curtis apologized as they walked.  
  
"The conditions here are deplorable. Good help is hard to come by for the insane," he explained. "We have little choice but to keep them restrained, else they would walk out on to the streets when we aren't looking." Jarrod didn't dignify the man with an answer. He felt his own shame well up for he had never really taken an interest in the mentally ill before. Now...now that Nick...maybe it wasn't Nick. Maybe he was wrong, but deep inside, Jarrod knew he wasn't. This was the end of the line. He had no more leads. Would it be better to find Nick now, here or never, he mused as Dr. Curtis unlocked a solid wooden door with a metal opening in the center of the door. He opened it. Stepping into the room, Jarrod examined the patient in front of him. Dr. Curtis shut the door. Sitting on the floor in the corner of the room, there was a man, a man Jarrod didn't recognize. His heart plummeted. It wasn't Nick...Oh God...the man had a white jacket restraining him. The man was too thin to be Nick, his hair too long. Jarrod turned his face to the wall. He was wrong. He was wrong. Nick was gone.  
  
"Mr. Barkley, is this your brother?" Dr. Curtis inquired. Jarrod's beating heart urged him to leave, to run. His anger and frustration at wasted hope was consuming him. A roar of rage could be heard. The man jumped up, pushing Dr. Curtis against the wall. Jarrod moved instinctively. Though the patient was a tall man, he was so emaciated he couldn't put up much of a fight. Jarrod pulled him back till he sat again on the ground. He didn't get up. Dr. Curtis straightened his suit while Jarrod knelt down. The man's face was lifted towards him, the eyes wide and fearful, filled with a gut wrenching agony that ripped at Jarrod.  
  
"Oh my God," he breathed. Never had he seen a man so gaunt. "Nick? Nick, look at me. Nick, it's Jarrod." Jarrod looked to the doctor. "Get out. Get out and leave us alone."  
  
"Mr. Barkley that's not a good idea. He's violent. He may hurt you."  
  
"He's barely strong enough for that," Jarrod answered. "Get me some soap and water. I'll take care of him. Don't let anyone else in here." Starting to untie the white jacket, Jarrod found the doctor pulling him away from Nick's now still form. Nick was sitting back on the ground, his knees drawn to his chest as he keened back and forth. There were no sounds from his brother. Jarrod brushed the doctor away.  
  
"Mr. Barkley, I must protest. If he hurts you I will be responsible."  
  
"I'll take responsibility," Jarrod answered. "If you want I'll put it in writing. But I am not leaving my brother." Dr. Curtis threw up his hands in resignation.  
  
"Fine. I can see arguing with you is useless. I'll have one of the nurses bring some soap and water. But be careful." Jarrod didn't dignify the warning with an answer. He felt sick at seeing Nick and yet elated. He had found his brother. Dr. Curtis left the room. Jarrod knelt in front of Nick. Carefully he undid the ties that restrained his brother.  
  
"Brother Nick? It's Jarrod," the lawyer said. "I'm going to take this jacket off. I don't know how long you've had it on, but it's going to come off. You aren't going to wear it anymore, do you understand me?" Nick was silent. He didn't protest when Jarrod carefully helped him out of the jacket. Jarrod was even sicker when he realized Nick's chest was naked beneath the jacket, his chest dirty, his arms chaffed from fighting for release. How could anyone treat his brother so badly. Yet seeing how Nick had attacked the doctor when he came into the room, and seeing the inadequate staff, the lawyer wasn't surprised. No one understood mental illness. No one understood what made a person retreat to a world that made no sense.  
  
"Nick, can you hear me?" Jarrod went on. "Nick, we thought...the army told us you were dead. We didn't know where you were. I've been looking for you for a long time." The door opened. Jarrod stood. He took the water and basin from the nurse. Nick still didn't move. Jarrod indicated silently that the nurse should leave. She locked the door behind her. Seeing there was no where else to put the soap and water in the metal basin, he put it down on the floor with the washcloth.  
  
"Nick, I want to get you cleaned up. Mother would be horrified to see you this way. You know that don't you? Nick?" When there was no answer, Jarrod swallowed his disappointment. He helped Nick to sit on the bed. After washing his brother's face, he looked to his back. Jarrod Barkley was physically sick at the sight that greeted him.  
  
"Nick," he breathed. "What did they do to you brother of mine?" His hand touched the back with the washcloth, the scarred back crisscrossed by a whip, not once but many times, too many to count. The cloth was warm and soapy. Nick started to shake his head. Jarrod talked softly, quietly in a tone that seemed to calm the man. Nick...When he had finished cleaning his brother, Jarrod sat on the bed. He pulled Nick into his arms. Nick didn't recognize him, didn't know, didn't even know where he was. His world was a place Jarrod couldn't enter. Nick struggled against his brother's embrace for a few minutes but again was too weak to protest long. The door was unlocked. Jarrod looked up to the nurse who brought in a tray.  
  
"I've got some soup and bread. He hasn't eaten much since he came. We were beginning to fear he'd starve to death. Maybe you can get him to eat. I'm sorry, Mr. Barkley. It's just too hard to care for the ones who won't let us. He wouldn't eat and we can't force him."  
  
"I understand," Jarrod answered, though he really didn't. How could they let his kid brother starve to death? The tray was left. Jarrod held Nick close, then tried to get him to eat, begged him to, but Nick didn't open his mouth.  
  
"Nick, you know what Mother would say about wasting good food. Heath would tell you how hungry he was all the time before he came to us. You can't let this good food go. You need it Brother. You need it so we can go home. Mother and Father and Heath and Audra, they're all waiting for you." He kept on trying, kept on talking, but Nick didn't seem to hear. Finally defeated, for the moment, Jarrod helped his brother lay down on the bed. He covered him gently, then waited till a nurse came back. The door unlocked. Jarrod picked up the tray. As the door opened, Nick pounced off the bed. He flew through the open door, throwing the nurse against a wall. His run down the hall was quickly stopped by Jarrod and two orderlies who came running. Before Jarrod could stop them, he found Nick strapped again in the white jacket and given a sedative. The lawyer was stunned and overwhelmed as the door to his brother's room was shut and locked again, Nick on one side and himself on the other. Dr. Curtis angrily confronted Jarrod.  
  
"I told you he was violent. He's hopelessly insane, Mr. Barkley. There's no hope for your brother. What he went through was just too much." Frustrated, hurt and totally determined, the Barkley temper flared. This time Jarrod couldn't control his actions. He pushed Dr. Curtis against the wall.  
  
"My brother is not hopeless. If you think he's insane because he fights for release and his dignity, then you are sadly mistaken. I am going to stay with him twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week until he is at least strong enough to take home."  
  
"Home? Where is that?"  
  
"California," Jarrod informed him. "Barkley's don't give up and I don't think Nick has. Now, I will need a larger room, two beds, a table, chairs and an extra nurse. I can pay whatever the price. I also need to send a telegram to my family."  
  
"Surely you are not serious," Dr. Curtis protested. However, it was obvious Jarrod meant every word.  
  
"Mr. Barkley," Dr. Curtis tried one more time.  
  
"Now, Dr. Curtis," Jarrod told him in a deadly voice. Following the doctor down the hall, Jarrod looked back over his shoulder.  
  
"I'll be back, Brother Nick. I'm not giving up on you, not now, not ever. I love you, Brother. I love you." 


End file.
